Without Reservation
by apollinax
Summary: Lynley has never been lucky in love. Five years after Helen, can he finally get it right? A Lynley/Havers romance.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Party

"To Detective Inspector Havers!"

Winston Nkata's toast echoed through the packed pub. The crowd of constables, sergeants and DIs chorused,

"To Havers!", and as glasses and bottles clinked, an informal cheer arose. At the center of it all, newly minted DI Barbara Havers blushed hotly. She hadn't wanted a celebration at all. When she'd announced her intention to let her promotion go unmarked, Nkata and all the others had agreed readily…and then lured her to the Penny Pig a week later. Barbara sighed. She should have known. She was sure that a certain DCI Lynley was behind the surprise party, not that he'd ever admit to it.

The crowd pressed in, congratulating and back-slapping. An enthusiastic (and tipsy) Nkata even hugged her, lifting her clear off her feet and whirling her in a wide circle.

"Winnie! Put me down!"

But she was laughing as she said it, and Nkata grinned back.

"Always knew the Met was crazy, but this clinches it." He shook his head in mock sorrow. "Sad, who they're lettin' in these days." Barbara made a grab for him and he dodged easily. "Ooh—she's violent, too."

"Yeah, and proud of it."

Nkata shook his head. More quietly he said,

"You deserve it, Barb; don't let them tell you any different."

He gave her over to other well-wishers then, and for one of the first times in her life, Barbara let herself simply accept their praise. She had come a long way, she though, from the bitter Constable she had once been. Then she would probably have run out of the pub. But now, as much as she protested, Barbra admitted that it was nice to be recognized. To be accepted. The change was, she knew, mostly due to Thomas Lynley. Detective Chief Inspector, belted earl and her partner for the last seven years.

He'd believed in her when no one else had, and shown her that compassion was not always a weakness to be spurned. He'd pushed and tugged her out of her comfortable shell until, before she knew it, she was standing on her own. He'd been there when she needed a friend, a shoulder to cry on or a kick in the arse. And over the years, she had found herself returning the favor.

Barbara smiled a little. Passionate, stubborn, occasionally rash and always dedicated, Lynely driven her half mad. He was by far the best partner she had ever worked with…and the best man she had ever known.

Unexpectedly, the thought depressed her. While her promotion had been dearly wished for, Barbara knew that it also marked the end of their partnership. She was a DI now, with her own team of sergeants and constables. She would head investigations and report to her Superintendant or the Assistant Commissioner. She would probably see Lynley once or twice a week, if she was lucky.

Barbara shook her head, impatient with herself. She was more than ready for a new challenge. She had proved herself as Lynley's partner, and this was her just reward, something she had struggled toward for over half her life. So why did she feel so miserable?

Belatedly she realized that the crowd had thinned. Nkata's toast had been the last, and it was late; well after midnight. People were heading home, most stopping to give her a last quick congratulations. She lingered by the bar until the last of them trickled out, then moved to leave herself.

"Well."

His voice startled her and she jumped involuntarily. Lynley was beside her, leaning against the bar with his hands in his coat pockets. He'd been the first to toast her, but afterwards he had hung back, abandoning her to the crowd. She had assumed that he had already gone. Barbara cocked her head at him.

"Thanks for the party."

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know what you mean, Havers."

She rolled her eyes.

"Sure, sir. Whatever you say."

There was a moment of companionable silence. Suddenly he said,

"I haven't told you; I'm to be promoted also."

She gaped at him, momentarily nonplussed.

"To Superintendent? "

Lynley shrugged.

"The interim Superintendent's not working out well. They asked me before, but…I wasn't ready."

She heard what he didn't say. Lynley had been Acting Super when his wife Helen was murdered. He had quit, disappeared for months to walk the Cornwall Coast Path, and Havers had thought at first that that he was off the force for good. When he'd finally come back, gaunt and hollow-eyed, he'd resumed his old rank of DCI. No one suggested that he take the Superintendant post; he would certainly refuse, and emotionally he was completely unfit for the job.

As the years went on, Barbara had watched Lynley slowly put himself back together. He'd healed, as much as one could from such a thing. She even thought that he had eventually found an uneasy peace with his wife's death. Recently she had heard rumors that Lynley was again being considered for the top job, but hadn't paid them any attention. She winced. God, she was oblivious, wasn't she? Barbara turned to look at Lynley full-on.

"You pushed for my promotion, didn't you? Because you were leaving." She watched him carefully. She wanted this job, but not because of Lynley's rank, or his influence at the Met. If he had pulled strings…

Seemingly reading her mind, Lynley shook his head. "You got this on your own merit, Barbara. I told the commissioner that you were ready for it and he agreed."

All at once, her throat felt uncomfortably tight. Lynley usually treated her as an equal, but he rarely articulated his respect. To hear him say it—

She swallowed hard.  
"That…that means a lot, sir."

The moment stretched, and Lynley's brown eyes gazed at her with uncomfortable intensity. He looked wistful, and a little sad. Belatedly she realized that she hadn't even wished him congratulations. She raised her half-empty bottle with a smile.

"To Superintendent Lynley, then, eh?

He clinked his bottle with hers and they drank. It was nice, she thought, being alone in the quiet bar with him. With the customarily frenetic pace of cases, they rarely got the chance to simply enjoy each other's company. Irrationally Barbara found herself wanting to lean into him, just a little…

She stopped herself, horrified. Obviously she had drunk more than she had thought. She shook her head a little to clear it and said,

"I, ah…it's late. I reckon I better be going, sir."

Lynely glanced at his wrist and look a little surprised.

"So it is. I hadn't noticed." She waited, but he made no move to say goodbye.

"You wouldn't by any chance want to come over for awhile, would you?"

"Come to your place, ya mean?"

Lynley's hand played with his beer bottle, his finger making restless circles on its rim. Barbara looked at him curiously, trying to figure out what was going on.

She knew Lynley's flat as well as her own. Over the past few years they had been assigned bigger cases, and inevitably, longer hours had followed. When on a case, most days had ended at one or the other of their flats, working until they literally fell asleep where they sat. Lynley had developed an intimate hatred of her tiny couch, Barbara thought with a smile. But as far as she could remember, he'd never simply invited her as a friend, without a case to work on.

Whatever his reasons, the offer was tempting. There was nothing waiting for her at home besides a dying houseplant and day-old curry, and she was unwilling to be alone with her thoughts just yet. Besides, after the party, she wouldn't be able to sleep for hours. What could it hurt?

Barbara knew very well the answer to that. She wasn't exactly sure what she felt for Lynley, but she had a sinking suspicion that it went far beyond friendship. And that was unacceptable. Lynely was her direct superior. _Not anymore_, said the little voice in her head. _You don't report to him, so the regs don't apply._

She ruthlessly suppressed the thought; that way lay madness. Aside from any question of regulations, she knew that Lynley be appalled by any untoward display of feelings on her part. It would completely ruin their friendship, and that she would not stand.

But if she went home tonight, Barbara knew, he wouldn't ask again. He would settle into the Superintendent's office, and they would send cards at Christmas and drift inevitably apart. That would happen anyway, most likely. But wouldn't it be nice to have one last hurrah, one last night as the indomitable Lynley and Havers before things changed forever?

In the end, the answer was easy.

"I would love to, sir."

Lynley smiled. It was a full-on grin, one she rarely saw, and it made her flush uncomfortably.

"Right, then."

Lynely fetched her coat, and then they were out of the bar and driving to Belgravia.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Incident

Barbara had never been entirely comfortable in Lynley's posh flat, and tonight was no exception. When the taxi stopped at Eaton Terrace and he gestured her inside, she went automatically through the foyer to the sitting room and the wide sofa where they usually set up casework. She perched on the edge, not sure what exactly was expected.

"Can I get you a drink?"

She turned to look over at Lynley. He was standing by the bar in shirtsleeves, his coat and tie thrown over the arm of a chair. As if the removal had been somehow symbolic, he also seemed more relaxed. The deep lines around his mouth had softened a little, and there was a hint of mischief in his brown eyes. Recklessly, Barbara decided to be bold.

"A drink was on offer, yeah? Or was I lured here under false pretenses?"

Lynley looked surprised, then pleased.

"No pretenses here, Havers. And just for that I'm choosing for you."

He handed her a stem glass and Barbara wrinkled her nose a little.

"Is this wine?"

"Red wine; you'll like it."

To her surprise she did. To her further surprise, Lynley suddenly leaned down and fiddled with something beside the bar.

"Joni Mitchell?" She looked at him incredulously as the music started to play. "What, no Russian heavies?"

"It's from this century, at least. I thought you'd be proud."

"Yeah, very impressive, sir. Pretty soon you'll graduate to Dylan."

There was a whoosh, then a thump. Barbara looked up in disbelief; he had thrown a pillow at her.

"Oh, that's how it is, is it?"

She grabbed her own missile and sent it flying, but he was too quick. There followed a brief tug-of-war over the remaining pillow, but when Lynley relinquished it at last she was laughing too hard to throw. Winded, she flopped back on the sofa. Lynley settled himself a few feet away, and for a moment there was nothing but the music and the patter of soft rain against the window glass.

The silence should have been awkward, she thought, but it wasn't. It was…familiar. It was long car rides on country roads, and dingy hotel rooms with bad take-away. Lynley had never talked for the sake of hearing his voice. It was one of the first things she had noticed when they were partnered, and it had helped put her at ease. He understood that quiet could be much more intimate than any words.

Barbara shied away from that thought, disconcerted. Suddenly Lynley said,

"Havers—Barbara. I never thanked you, for…after Helen."

Her head snapped up. Lynley's face was earnest, and she knew that she was blushing and hated herself for it.

"You don't need to thank me, sir. I was just trying to help."

"You did. You did help. You were…there, after she died. You would have been well rid of me, but you stayed. "

"I wanted to stay."

"God knows why. I was a bastard. I never apologized for that either, not really."

"You were grieving."

"That was no excuse for taking it out on you."

It was true, she thought. At one time, she would have dearly loved to hear that admission. But now that he'd actually said the words, Barbara realized it really didn't matter.

"Please, sir; that's been forgotten years ago."

He looked at her then, and she was disconcerted by what she saw on his face. There was pain, but there was also another, less definable emotion.

"It has been, hasn't it."

Barbara hesitated, sensing suddenly that they were on dangerous ground. She took a sip of wine to cover her nerves and the yawn caught her before she could stop it.

"Tired?"

"A bit, yeah."

He nodded.

"In future, I promise that I'll keep a neater office."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and winced as she thought about the monumental task of going through Lynley's papers. It was annual review, and the accumulated clutter of twelve months was not going gently into that good night.

"In future, I won't be helping you clean it."

"Oh, it can't have been that bad, Barbara."

"Care to see for yourself, sir? "

She could have sworn that he went pale.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

She felt her eyes fluttering; she resolutely levered them back open. Joni Mitchell was singing about Woodstock, and the voice rose and fell in a pure, rhythmic cadence that was oddly soothing. She was exhausted, she knew, and more than a little tipsy. She should go home soon…

Somehow one of them must have moved, because she was very close to Lynley on the couch now. His arm brushed hers, and she absently watched the rise and fall of his chest. In her sleepy daze, it seemed the most natural thing to scoot down and rest her head on the back of the sofa, next to his shoulder. He shifted a little but didn't move away. Then his shoulder was under her cheek. She registered the thought that he was warm, felt something soft being pulled over her, and her eyes closed.

"Barbara?"

"Hm…wha?"

Still half-asleep, Barbara realized that Lynely was gently shaking her. She turned her head; she was still resting on his shoulder, and she had a soft throw tucked under her chin. His face, staring down at hers, was uncomfortably close.

"I…sorry, sir. Didn't mean to drop off like that. You should have woken me."

She should really sit up now, she thought. But she was so comfortable…

"It's my fault that you're in this state. The least I could do was let you sleep." He paused. "I'll drive you home."

Despite his words, neither of them moved. Frozen, Barbara watched as Lynley reached up and brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes.

"You've been wearing your hair longer, lately."

"I—yeah. Easier to put up and all."

"It's lovely."

Barbara blinked up at him, stunned. Was he teasing? But he was looking at her far too intently for a joke.

"Oh."

She had no idea what else to say. _I think you're lovely_. Yeah, she thought, that would go over a treat. He'd probably run for the hills.

But Lynley was showing no sign of running now. She went absolutely still as she felt his arm move gently around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She caught his eyes. His typical reserve had vanished entirely, she thought. He looked uncertain….maybe even scared. What on earth was going on? And then she couldn't think at all, because Lynely lowered his head and gently covered her mouth with his.

The first kiss was hardly a kiss at all, the merest touch of his lips against hers. He pulled away, watching her intently. Barbara was too stunned to even move. There was a ringing in her ears, and her head felt light and strange. Then he kissed her again.

He was still gentle, but not as tentative. He brushed his mouth against her nose, her cheek, before kissing her again in earnest. His other arm came around her, slipping into her hair and tilting her head back a little. Barbara raised her hands with some fleeting thought that she should pull away. They landed on his chest; the wool of his sweater was soft under her fingers. She let them slide up to his shoulders and held on as if she was drowning. She felt like she was drowning, drowning and flying all at once, and it was impossibly wonderful.

He nipped at her lower lip a little, and she gasped instinctively into his mouth. She felt him pull her even more securely against him…and then a phone rang.

They both froze at the shrill noise coming from her handbag. It took Barbara a moment to realize exactly what it was. Her mobile. Work. Lynley…oh God. Suddenly, she was completely awake. What had she done?

She shoved herself unceremoniously out of Lynley's arms and made for the handbag.

"Havers."

It was Nkata, making sure that she'd gotten home. She assured him that she had. Her voice must have sounded funny, because he asked twice if she was alright before he rang off. Then she was left alone with Lynley.

"Havers—Barbara. Look at me."

She heard him cross the carpet towards her. She knew it was childish, but she didn't look up. She was suddenly disgusted, both with him and with herself. What had she been thinking? She was his partner, not one of his dolly-birds.

"Barbara, what's the matter?"

She whirled to confront him and Lynley actually took a step back at the look on her face.

"Nothing, your Lordship. Everything's just fine, isn't it?"

"Barbara—"

She didn't let him finish.

"Thought I'd like to see for myself if Lord Asherton lives up to his reputation, did you? Let's show Havers a good time. A little wine, a little music and she'll go falling into his arms like the rest of them."

Lynely's jaw tightened.

"That's ridiculous. I could never think of you like that."

"Couldn't you?" Barbara knew that her tone was insubordination personified, but she didn't care. An overwhelming emotion was tearing at her throat, and she knew that if she didn't shout she would burst into tears.

"You want me now, yeah? But what happens in a week, or a month?" Then, bitterly, "What happens when you get sick of me?"

"I wouldn't—"

"Really? You've spent the last five years playing bed bingo with every girl you meet. Respectfully, _sir_, I don't believe you. And I won't…won't be another one of your one-nighters."

"Havers, listen."

He sounded desperate, but she didn't care.

"No! No, you listen. Can you look at me and say that it wouldn't' be like that?" For an insane moment, she thought that he would actually answer, that he would look up and say something profound. But Lynley was silent.

Barbara felt no triumph, only a kind of helpless despair. So she was right, she thought. The only real surprise was that this hadn't happened years ago.

More quietly she said,

" You want…someone. I understand that, sir. No one likes to be lonely. But you don't want _me_. Not really."

Lyley's jaw tightened. He looked furious.

"Perhaps I don't. But then, no one else seems to either, do they. Or has that dating agency been more effective than I thought? "

She stared at him as the enormity of his words sank in. His face was the mask of cool, aristocratic politeness that she so loathed. Of all the ways their friendship might end, Barbara thought, this had never even crossed her mind.

"I'm so sorry, Barbara. I didn't mean…"

She turned away, unable to hear more. She had to get out. For both their sakes, before any more damage was done, this had to end now.

"I think I'd better go. G'night, sir." She scooped up her bag and practically ran to the door of the sitting room. She didn't look back to see if he followed. And when she burst out the door of Eaton Terrace into the freezing night, she was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Without Reservation

Chapter 3

Thomas Lynley stared morosely at the dark, high shelves of the Howenstow library. As usual, he had come home to Cornwall for the holiday. Ordinarily the library, full of fond boyhood memories, would be profoundly relaxing. But now the silence only served to emphasize his melancholy. It was two days before Christmas, and he had never felt less like celebrating.

Lynley put his head in his hands. What a monumental cock-up. He should never have tried to kiss her, he thought. He had known better. He knew that Barbara would be scared and confused, and ultimately insulted. He'd done it anyway, and very possibly lost his best friend.

The worst of it, Lynley thought, was that he still didn't know quite how he felt. For a long time after Helen, Barbara had been his mainstay, the one sure thing in world suddenly turned insane. If he wanted to talk, she listened. If he didn't, she was there for an after-work drink or a few moments of camaraderie. Gradually, he noticed that Barbara had begun opening up in kind. He never knew when it would happen; sometimes, after a particularly grueling day, she simply started talking. She told him about her mother, her neighbors, even her dating attempts. With her usual wry humor, Barbara had given nick-names to her more disastrous dates; there was dog-guy, booze-guy, smarmy-guy. She laughed as she told him, but he knew that she wasn't quite as cavalier as she appeared.

It would have been fine, Lynley thought, if things had stopped there. But suddenly, without his permission, everything started to change. At first it was little things. When she brushed her hair back, he noticed the unstudied grace of the gesture. She smiled at him at the end of a case, a full-watt grin, and he found himself struck speechless. When she brushed past him or came too close, he was uncomfortably aware.

Of course, he thought, in typical Thomas Lynley fashion he had ignored all the signs. And it had worked just fine…until it hadn't.

Lynley tossed back his brandy, feeling as if the weight of the past was suffocating him. The kiss at his flat had been spur of the moment, done before his nerve deserted him. He knew his feelings for Barbara went far beyond friendship. But did he love her, truly?

He ran a hand through his hair. In the process of grieving, he had been forced to face the entire painful truth about his first wife. He had loved Helen, sincerely. But he had also used her. After all the lies and the corpses, he could come home to Helen's laugh and her easy chatter and pretend that DI Thomas Lynley didn't exist. And in the end, fittingly, it was Helen's very detachment that had doomed them.

She was his refuge from work, so he didn't talk about work with her. But the cases still consumed him. He came home moody, snappish and depressed and Helen had no idea what was the matter. She felt abandoned, justifiably. Then she lost the baby, he used work to escape yet again, and it was over.

Did he love Barbara for herself, and not as another replacement or convenience? Lynley couldn't say, and that was unacceptable. He knew that Barbara would love as she did everything else; fully and completely, without reservation. She deserved someone who could do the same.

Then again, he reflected bitterly, it was likely that none of this mattered at all. Who said that Barbara even felt anything for him? When she kissed him it seemed…but she had never said the words, and she was impossibly hard to read.

It would be better if she didn't love him, he decided. He could come back to the Met, apologize for his presumption and the whole thing would eventually be forgotten. She would forgive him. She always did. But then he remembered those last, horrible words about not wanting her. He had a sinking sensation that this time, the damage might be irreparable.

Struck by a mad impulse, Lynley reached for his mobile. If he couldn't fix things, he could at least find out where they stood.

"Drunken phone calls, Tommy? I thought that I had raised you better."

Lynely's head snapped up. His mother stood in the doorway of the library, wrapped in her dressing gown with a steaming mug in hand. She was perfectly groomed as always, but she looked worried.

Her concern grated on his already raw nerves, and in a barely civil tone he ground out,

"I'm not drunk."

"No? You hide it better than most, but I doubt that Barbara would appreciate your call at," She glanced at her wrist, "three o'clock in the morning."

Lynley winced inwardly. He never could fool his mother, though she was usually too well-bred to call his bluff.

"Barbara?"

His mother walked into the library and very deliberately settled herself in the chair across from his. This wasn't going to be a quick conversation, then.

"Do I look like a fool, Tommy?"

There was no politic way to answer the question, so he kept silent. His mother looked exasperated.

"Barbara Havers. Your Sergeant. Your friend. The woman you haven't mentioned once since you came here."

"She's fine."

"Ah, yes. The ubiquitous answer. You're fine, she's fine, everything is fine. I let you get away with it after Helen and I doubt it did you any good." His mother's voice softened. "You're miserable, Tommy. If you can't talk to me, you should talk to someone."

She was right, he knew. But though his relationship with his mother had improved immeasurably in recent years, his still found it nearly impossible to let his guard down. Perhaps his mother sensed his reticence, for she said slowly,

"The past isn't doomed to repeat itself, Tommy."

"Isn't it?"

His mother sighed.

"Barbara isn't Helen. If you love her—"

Suddenly Lynley felt his restraint snap.

"But that's just it, isn't it? I don't have a bloody clue if I love her, or if I love her enough."

"Don't you?" He looked away. Carefully his mother said,

"You've never loved by half-measures, Tommy. I think you know what you feel." She paused. "You're afraid, aren't you. Afraid to need someone enough that they can hurt you." He opened his mouth to deny it, but his mother simply shook her head. "And now you're both miserable because you haven't the guts to take a risk."

"A risk?" Lynley laughed incredulously. "This isn't some card game, mother. If it doesn't work…if Barbara…"

"If Barbara leaves you, you mean? Like Deborah left you—like Helen left you?" Lynley stood up, unwilling to hear more. But his mother's next words stopped him. Very gently she said, "If Barbara left, you would be heartbroken. But that's life, isn't it? Sometimes the only thing to do is take a chance."

His mother cocked her head a little. "There's something else, isn't there. Do you think Helen would blame you? That she would disapprove?"

Lynley ran his finger round the rim of his glass. His throat felt oddly tight.

"No. No, I know she wouldn't."

His mother nodded.

"But it feels like a betrayal, doesn't it? If you love Barbara and it does work. If you're happier with her than you ever were with Helen." She looked knowing, and Lynley shifted uncomfortably. Many years ago, when his father was dying, his mother had taken a lover. Lynley had found out and been furious. How could his mother abandon his father on his deathbed? How could she be so cold, so unfeeling? He hadn't spoken to his mother for years afterward. It was only recently that he'd begun to understand how she could have loved them both.

Very quietly his mother said,

" Fish or cut bait, Tommy darling."

She stood up and turned to leave. At the doorway she paused.

"I know that we don't always--get on, Tommy. And I know that you have no cause to take my advice. But if it were me… I would go after her."

She left, but Lynley hardly saw her. His mother had been right, he knew, about all of it. A younger Tommy would have ignored her for the sheer pleasure of contradiction. But he was older now, and more was at stake than his own pride. Lynley shoved away the empty glass and rose unsteadily. He needed coffee and a cold shower, and he prayed that they would do the job. He had a decision to make.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: _Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter--more (with fluff!) is coming very soon. Also, thank you all for your reviews. They are very much appreciated.

_It's comin' on Christmas_

_They're cuttin' down trees_

_They're puttin' up reindeer and singin' songs of joy and peace_

_Oh I wish I had a river_

_I could skate away on_

Joni Mitchell

Barbara Havers put her chin in her hands and stared glumly at her plate of toast. All in all, she thought, it had been a nice Christmas Eve. She had gone to visit her mother earlier, and Mrs. Havers was having a good day. Her mother had recognized her for a bit and even wished her a happy Christmas. She'd driven home through gaily lit neighborhoods with Santa on the front lawns and trimmed trees in the windows. An early frost had iced the streets and it seemed as if children were everywhere, slipping and sliding on the frozen puddles.

She had gone to mass at the neighborhood church, and listened to old Father Benton tell his flock to rejoice and go in peace. She wasn't religious, but she always went to Mass at Christmas. It was, Barbara supposed, a kind of exorcism. Holding her flickering candle aloft and looking out over the dark church filled with hundreds of points of light, her ghosts were momentarily banished. She could forget that people lied and stole and killed, and acknowledge the human goodness that was so easy to forget amid the demands of her work. It was cheaper than therapy, she thought wryly. More importantly, it brought her a measure of peace.

But mass had ended two hours ago and Barbara was finally alone. She didn't mind, she told herself. She'd had a solitary Christmas for years and was perfectly content with her own company. She would watch _A Christmas Carol_ on the telly, have a glass of wine and go to bed.

Still…Barbara looked around her little flat and thought that she should have gotten a tree. In concession to the holiday she had hung some lights from the front window, but they looked more sad than festive. Maybe a tree would have made it feel like Christmas…

Barbara closed her eyes and stifled the ridiculous urge to cry. She knew it wasn't the lack of a tree, or her Christmas lights or her empty, messy flat. For almost a decade, Lynley had called her on Christmas eve. It was always a quick call, little more than 'happy Christmas' between friends, but he never forgot. Until this year.

Barbara scrubbed at her eyes impatiently. She knew very well why he hadn't called. After he kissed her, she couldn't see beyond her own hurt. She knew that her reaction had been completely out of proportion, but she hadn't been able to help it. In that, one shining instant, Barbara had been sharply confronted with the truth she had been so desperately avoiding. She didn't want him as a friend or a confidant. She didn't have a crush or an infatuation. She was in love with Thomas Lynley, and she never wanted to stop kissing him.

Barbara knew full well that Lynely didn't feel the same. How could he, with a new woman on his arm every month? And for years, Barbara had strictly prohibited herself from developing any inappropriate feelings toward her boss. She scoffed at the women who ruined their careers for affairs, and was even more derisive of those who aspired to a place in Lynley's bed. She was tough, practical, no-nonsense DS Havers. She would never be that much of a fool; or so she had thought.

Furious at her appalling weakness, furious with Lynley for taking advantage of it, she had instinctively lashed out. Not for the first time, Barbara wished fervently that she was more like Helen. Helen would have laughed, pushed him away and made some witty joke. Helen would not have ranted like an angry shrew and damaged a friendship ten years in the making.

Barbara cursed herself as she chanced another glance at the phone. Lynley wasn't going to call and she may as well go to bed. Then, to her complete amazement, the doorbell rang.

Barefoot, in ratty sweatpants and an old Met Police sweatshirt, Barbara padded to the door. It seemed late for carolers, she thought, but who else could it be? She raised herself on tiptoe and peered through the peephole. What she saw made her grab for the doorframe. It was Lynley.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hopefully this should make up for the last chapter…enjoy! Also, spot the BBC pride and prejudice reference :)

All we ever wanted

Was just to come in from the cold

Joni Mitchell

Chapter 5

"Barbara? Are you there?"

She stood perfectly still, transfixed by his muffled voice. It was Christmas eve; he was supposed to be in Cornwall. What on earth could he be doing here? For a wild moment she was tempted to ignore him, go to bed and pretend nothing had happened. But that was cowardly, and when it mattered Barbara had never been a coward. Besides, it might be an emergency. Why else would he have come?

She let her forehead rest against the door for a moment. She had absolutely no idea how she was going to face him.

"Barbara?"

Lynley rang again. Slowly, she undid the bolts and swung the door open. For an interminable moment they just stared at each other, and Barbara became suddenly conscious of what she must look like. But Lynley didn't seem to care; his fingers found a loose thread of his sweater and worried it. With some amazement, Barbara realized that he was nervous.

"I—happy Christmas, Barbara. I know this is irregular. May I come in?"

She cast a glance back at her dim flat, with its plate of half-eaten toast and battered bodice-ripper. She dreaded his pity but couldn't bring herself to refuse.

"Ah…yeah. Happy Christmas, sir. "

She stood aside to let him pass. He smelled of cedar smoke and whisky, and Barbara hated herself for the sudden urge to move into his arms.

"I'll, um…just be a minute."

Leaving Lynley to fend for himself, Barbara hurried around him and into the bedroom. Breathe, she told herself. She could handle this. She'd pour him a drink, see what he wanted and send him on his way. With fingers that weren't quite steady, Barbara pulled off her sweatpants and exchanged them for a pair of jeans. She'd never match Lynley in sartorial elegance, but she may as well look half-way presentable. She ran distracted fingers through her hair, gave herself a tremulous smile in the mirror and went out to face the music.

She found Lynley where she had left him, standing ill-at-ease near the sofa. His eyes were on the television, but Barbara would have guessed that he hadn't heard a word of _A Christmas Carol_.

"D'you want a drink?"

Lynley started a little and shook his head.

"No, thank you."

She waited for him to elaborate. Finally he said,

"I came to apologize. I—what I said was inexcusable."

Barbara nodded, telling herself that it was ridiculous to be disappointed.

"It's fine, sir. We—I think we both said things we didn't mean that night. And you should be at your mum's for Christmas. You didn't need to come all the way from Cornwall just to tell me that."

"Yes, I did." He hesitated. "I…I care for you, Barbara. Very much. As a friend as well as a partner. And I had no business commenting on your personal life; God knows I'm not one to talk."

Barbara resisted the urge to close her eyes. Please, she thought, let him leave now. But Lynely wasn't finished. In a rush he said,

"Kissing you was a…an impulse. I didn't intend—"

"Right." Barbara nodded a bit too eagerly. "It doesn't matter, sir. It shouldn't have happened. We had better just…move on."

Lynley looked at her intently, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Really? I'd thought that I would have been more memorable."

Barbara blinked. Lynely stepped closer; much closer. Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her. Barbara stood stock-still, completely stunned. But his mouth was warm and coaxing, and his hands ran up and down her arms in a caress that made her instinctively relax. Against her will, against all her better judgment, she leaned into him. And for a few long, blissful moments, the world fell away.

Finally, Lynley raised his head.

"Wh—what…"

"That wasn't an impulse."

Utterly confused, she reached out to push him away, but he was having none of it.

"Barbara. Look at me."

Reluctantly, she did. Very slowly he said,

"I can't predict the future. I can't give you any guarantees. But I can tell you that this isn't a game to me, or a whim." Lynely had been brought up to hide strong emotion. But in moments of stress, she knew, his breeding often deserted him entirely. Now he looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, not sure whether to jump. Barbara's stomach knotted with a dizzying mixture of hope and dread. Evenly she said,

"Go on."

"I—there's no easy way to say this, is there? The poets did it best, but you wouldn't want to hear it from them." He swallowed hard. "The truth is…I seem to have fallen in love with you, Barbara."

Barbara stared up at him, sure she had misheard. Then she saw the look on his face and knew that she hadn't. Unsteadily, she sank onto the sofa. Still half-dazed, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; for the first time in a long while, I am." She must have looked doubtful, because Lynley said softly,

"Have I been that dreadful, then?" He winced and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Yes, I can see that I have. I—the truth is that I've always been rubbish with women. You know that better than anyone. I have no promises that you would believe, do I?

Barbara was half-tempted to leave it at that. He said he loved her, didn't he? For a moment the thought made her want to hurl herself into his arms. But it wasn't enough, she knew. Lynley had the habit of turning to women in times of emotional turmoil, and he often convinced himself that he loved them. But once the novelty wore off and the loneliness abated, Lord Asherton would surely tire of her. She forced herself to say what she must.

"You thought you loved Helen."

Lynley nodded, looking defeated.

" I did love her. Just…not the way she deserved." He paused. "I would like to think that I learned from my mistakes. I don't love you because you're a distraction, or a comfort, or an escape. I love you because…because you shout back. Because when I talk to you it seems effortless. Because you would step in front of a shotgun to save a stranger, and you do an impossible job with remarkable courage. Because you're lovely when you smile and--." Lynley turned away. His voice was strained. "And now you think I'm a sentimental fool. But…are you truly indifferent?"

Barbara sat transfixed. Jaded she may have been, but even she could see that this was something new. Those were not the words of a casual affair or a man missing his work partner, and Lynley had spoken them with a passion she hadn't believed would ever be directed at her. In truth, it was terrifying. It was safer to simply go on as they were, wasn't it?

The though brought on an unexpected trickle of anger. She had been safe for a long time. Telling herself that she enjoyed living alone. Dating but not really trying, carefully maintaining that reserve which kept men at a distance. And still, despite everything, here she was. It came down to trust, she thought. Trust, and something more.

Very softly she said,

"I'm not indifferent."

Lynley turned back.

"Aren't you?"

He tilted her chin up gently, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Not indifferent. Then what?"

He would know instantly if she lied, and Barbara silently cursed his skill at interrogation. This was it, then. She thought back over the years of stake-outs, arguments, pubs and B&Bs. She thought about her Christmas Eve, going to Mass and then waiting for Lynley to call.

Wasn't Christmas all about faith? Recklessly, she decided that maybe it was time she took a leap of faith herself. She would always regret it if she didn't try. And when it all went to pieces, well, she would just put herself back together and carry on. She had before, hadn't she?

Praying that she wasn't going to end up heartbroken too quickly, Barbara twisted the sleeve of her sweatshirt in her hands and mumbled,

"I'm—the opposite of indifferent, really. "

She winced. It was definitely not the most romantic of declarations, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say the words. Lynley was completely silent for a long moment. Then he sat down on the sofa, reached out and pulled her down into his arms. He pressed his cheek to her hair.

"Are you?"

He sounded incredulous, but delighted. So he knew, she thought. She nodded a little against his chest, not daring to speak with a throat that suddenly felt too tight. After a moment Lynley murmured,

"You're trembling. "

"I—I'm alright. " She faced down cold-blooded killers on a daily basis, but somehow this was worse. Feeling miserably awkward she managed,

"I'm no good at this. It won't work—it can't."

Lynley's hand moved slowly through her hair, and she resisted the urge to tilt her head onto the caress. He was quiet for a moment. Finally he said,

"You're worried about work, I suppose."

"Aren't you?"

Lynley paused; the silence somehow managed to sound guilty.

"I…may have talked to Hillier."

She gave a quick breath.

"Tell me you didn't."

"I saw him at the Christmas party. I asked what he would do-hypothetically-if two officers in his division were to consider a relationship."

Barbara looked up at Lynley, torn between humiliation, terror and hope.

"What did he say? Hypothetically."

"Officially, the metropolitan police force doesn't encourage such activity." Lynley's voice was distinctly mocking. "But...if there is no direct chain of command, it's out of his hands." He paused. "Unofficially, Hillier gives us his blessing."

He was watching her carefully, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction. But Barbara was simply too shocked to do much at all. Her head was whirling. He'd thought about this, she realized. He cared enough to clear it with Hillier, even when it must have meant some considerable personal embarrassment. The thought was nearly overwhelming.

And if work wasn't an obstacle, then…what? There were still so many other problems. Her background, his title, his family, his experience in committed relationships and her lack of it. But somehow, right now, none of that seemed very important at all.

Lynley took advantage of her paralysis to pull her a little more securely into his arms.

"Happy Christmas, Barbara."

Barbara blinked and looked at the clock. Christmas. It was 12:03 and she hadn't even noticed. She took a deep breath and looked up, into his brown eyes.

"Happy Christmas, Tommy."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry everyone for the long, long wait!! RL and me had issues… Here, finally, is the end of this.

_Barbara blinked and looked at the clock. Christmas. It was 12:03 and she hadn't even noticed. She took a deep breath and looked up, into his brown eyes. _

_ "Happy Christmas, Tommy." _

It felt incredibly strange to say his Christian name, she thought. Strange, but not bad.

He grinned.

"No more 'sir', Barbara? I thought you'd forgotten my name."

She shook her head.

"It didn't feel right, to use it before."

"Because of work?"

"Yeah, I suppose." It was more than that, but she wasn't sure she could really tell him. 'Sir' had become a kind of talisman, a necessary reminder of the barrier between them. Through all the late-night work sessions, when her thoughts sometimes strayed to forbidden territory, that word had always snapped reality back into place. Unwilling to explain such a tangle to Lynley just now, she stretched up a little and kissed him again.

Lynley kissed her back softly, then pulled away. Though he was looking down at her with a tenderness that made her blush, she also felt strangely…disappointed. All this time he'd been very gentle, very careful, almost as if she were a different person entirely. She told herself that they weren't ready to go much farther, but it was still maddening. She'd faced down madmen, knives and the North Sea, all of which Lynley seemed to have conveniently forgotten. But if this was going to work, he would have to accept the Detective as well as the woman. She might be inexperienced, she thought, but she wasn't ignorant, or breakable.

Besides, while she was a quivering mess, Lynley still looked perfectly composed. It was about time that someone ruffled His Lordship's feathers.

"Tommy."

The name got his attention and she gave him no more warning. Still curled in his arms on the sofa, she launched herself at him, one hand curving around his waist and the other burying itself in the fine hair at the nape of his neck. Her chest was crushed to his, and she kissed him with all of the frustration and affection and passion that she had restrained for so long.

For a long moment he was frozen under her assault, and she had the horrible thought that she'd put him off. Then he moved. Suddenly she was under him on the couch, both his hands were on her waist and he was kissing her so hard that she knew her mouth would be swollen in the morning. When his mouth left hers to nip at her neck, just under her chin, she heard an incoherent gasp and realized that it was hers. Above her, Lynley chuckled.

"Like that, do you?" Under other circumstances it would have been patronizing, but his voice held only fondness, with a faint hint of masculine satisfaction.

"Hmm."

She couldn't summon anything more coherent, but Lynley didn't seem to mind. She sighed, then gasped again as she felt his warm hand slip under her sweatshirt and sweep up the length of her back. She arched into him instinctively, pressing the length of her body to his. Her own hands found his shoulders and she held on for dear life. Though Lynley clearly knew what he was about, she hadn't a clue; but things seemed to be progressing without her doing much at all. This was so very different , she thought, from the quick fumbles in the dark that made up the majority of her romantic experience.

Lynley's hand was on her stomach now, drawing slow circles that were driving her mad. She wanted to return the favor but his shirt was inconveniently in the way. She twisted restlessly underneath him and tugged at the shirt until it came un-tucked, then stretched up to kiss his neck and was rewarded with a low moan. Abruptly, with a clear effort, he pulled away.

"We, ah…had better stop now."

It took her a moment to process the words, and to realize just how far things had gotten. One of her legs was twined with his, her hands had crept under his shirt and her mouth was tingling fiercely. She should have been embarrassed, she thought, but mostly she just felt…joyful. She knew that she must be grinning stupidly and didn't really care.

Lynley dis-entangled himself, and for a moment the only sound was the rustle of clothing as they straightened themselves.

They were both quiet for a moment. Finally Lynley said,

"Come to Cornwall with me tomorrow."

She looked incredulously at him, and he gave her a half-smile.

"Of course, we could always spend a lovely Christmas on your sofa." She blushed bright red, and he laughed.

"You do have a dirty mind, don't you? Though I suppose it was rather ambiguous."

"Ah...wouldn't I be intruding?"

Lynley looked taken aback.

"Of course not. My mother already adores you."

Though she appreciated the sentiment, she didn't really believe him. She'd spent Christmas with the Lynleys two years ago, when a snow-storm trapped them in the area after a case. Despite her fears, Lady Asherton had been everything welcoming. But now, returning as the…whatever she was of the beloved first son, things were completely different.

She'd probably make Lynley miserable, she thought. But he clearly wanted to be back with his family for Christmas, and for some incomprehensible reason he wanted her to come.

"Couldn't you all go someplace warmer? Greece is nice, yeah?"

Lynley laughed.

"Impossible. Mother insists that the Howenstow parlor is the only proper venue."

"Ah. Right. Generations of Lynleys and all that."

"Actually, grandfather usually went to Corfu. Mother said that the sun ruined the entire business." He paused. "You will come, won't you?"

Hoping that she wasn't making a horrible mistake, Barabara took a deep breath and nodded. Lynely grinned at her, and she had to resist the sudden urge to launch herself at him again. God, she thought, he really was gorgeous when he smiled.

"Right. I'd better let you get some sleep, hadn't I?"

"Yeah."

Neither of them moved. Finally Lynely stood, then held out a hand and pulled her to her feet.

"I'll be here at seven, shall I?"

She winced.

"You'd better bring coffee."

Lynely only rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of forgetting. I do remember what you're like in the morning."

She gave his arm a playful shove, and they grinned at each other. With some shock, Barbara realized that they were talking like they always had on cases, the natural, almost mindless chatter between partners. In a moment of wild optimism, she thought that maybe this was actually going to work.

Lynely reached out to tug her into his arms, then bent and gave her a lingering kiss.

"Goodnight, Barbara. Sleep well."

"I—goodnight, Tommy."

She walked him to the door and stood watching as he climbed into the Bristol. He waved at her, backed out of the driveway and then was gone.

**

In a daze, she closed the door, wandered slowly back to her bedroom and sank down on the bed. Was that woman in the mirror really her, with the tousled hair, the swollen lips and the wide, soft eyes? It was all so surreal, she thought. If it weren't for the faint marks on her neck and the lingering taste of him on her mouth, she would have thought it all a dream.

She wrapped her arms around a pillow and stared vaguely at the opposite wall. With some surprise, Barabara realized that for the first time in a long while, she was actually happy. She knew that if she thought about it she would come up with a dozen reasons why it wouldn't last. So she pulled on pajamas, climbed into bed and firmly decided that no thinking was allowed tonight. Lynley loved her. Lynely loved her, she loved him and they were going to Cornwall for Christmas. She was still smiling a little as she drifted off to sleep.


End file.
